


Obsessed

by iwillrunforever



Category: DCU, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Choking, F/M, Implied Torture, Kidnapping, Manipulation, Violence, brain washing, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:48:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22227394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwillrunforever/pseuds/iwillrunforever
Summary: From the moment he first laid eyes on you Jeremiah Valeska was infatuated. After Jerome’s death, these feelings became twisted and corrupted, and he no longer feels any need to hold them back. He will have you, to keep and care for and love, no matter the cost.
Relationships: Jeremiah Valeska/Reader, Jeremiah Valeska/You
Comments: 5
Kudos: 57





	1. Taken

Another letter.

Scrawled in elegant calligraphy, it only held your name in black ink. No address. Hand-delivered. It was the third one in as many weeks, the sixth altogether. Your resistance had only made him more persistent.  
You knew what the letter would say. They were all the same. But you opened it anyway and read it:

_Dear (Y/N),_

_I would be very pleased if you would join me for dinner on Friday evening at 6 pm. If you choose to do so, my assistant will be waiting for you outside your apartment at approximately 5.30. If you do not, please know that while it will upset me deeply, I will hold nothing against you._

_Sincerely yours,  
Jeremiah Valeska_

You ripped the paper in half and in half again before throwing it into the bin. Never.  
You had only met the man twice. The first time had been when he had come to the GCPD after Jerome escaped from his labyrinth. You were a file clerk and had asked him to make a statement. It was all routine; sure, he was handsome, but you were completely professional. Asked him the questions, filled out the form, thanked him, and said goodbye.  
You met him again when he and his followers appeared outside of the GCPD. You stood hovering behind the officers, watching he and Detective Bullock talk, your heart racing in fear. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him. Something about his presence just… Caught you. When the clock tower exploded you couldn’t move. Frozen in fear. His point made, he left, but you felt his eyes linger on you. It must have just been your imagination. Must have been.

Or not. Now he wouldn’t stop sending you letters. Invitations to dinners that you would never go to. You didn’t tell anyone about it. About him. You could handle it alone. You were a passing infatuation. Soon he would be over you. You were sure. He had to.

*

Two more letters. Two more times ripping them up. Two more times ignoring them and praying that Jeremiah would give up. It felt like it would never end.  
You tried to get on with your life. And you succeeded. Just like today. You were out of milk, so you went to the shops. A perfectly normal, safe thing to do. Ten minutes there, ten minutes back. A nice walk.  
You never made it home. Almost there. Just around the corner. Everything about Gotham said you should never walk through alleyways. Especially empty ones. But it was the middle of the day, the sun was bright above you; there were no shadowy corners, no hidden dangers. Or so you thought. Halfway there. Halfway safe. A clang of metal. _Probably nothing._  
Not nothing. Sudden, sharp pain in the back of your head. You fell to the ground, more from shock than from anything. It was only after you were lying down that you felt the pain. Splitting through your skull. _Am I bleeding?_ You weren’t sure. The milk had spilt. You could see it pooling out of the edge of your eye as your vision went dark. No voice, no touch, no nothing. Left for dead.

If only.

*

 _Why does my head hurt so much?_  
You groaned at the pain, your voice strangely muffled. It was like the worst hangover of your life, just without any other symptoms. It was like someone had taken your brain and squeezed it dry.  
That was when you realised that you weren’t where you should be. You should be in bed, with blankets and cushions and safe and comfortable. But you were sat up, in a hard, wooden chair. Your back felt stiff, as though you had been propped up there for hours. And maybe you had been. The next thing you noticed was the tape over your mouth and on your arms. It clung to your skin, pulling at it, and held you down to the chair, to its smooth armrests. This isn’t good. This is very not good.

You struggled to open your eyes, the light that immediately filled your vision hurting your head even more. But, with a few minutes, you managed to open them and look at your surroundings. You were in a long room with dark walls, sat by the end of a table. It was set for two, you and someone else; whoever it was that was sat at the head. And you could guess who that would be. There was a strange sense of relief when you came to the conclusion that Jeremiah was the only one that could have, would have done this. At least you knew who Jeremiah was, had read his file, were slightly familiar with how he behaved. Anything that could help get you out of this alive. You turned your head as much as possible – which wasn’t much given the ache that radiated from within. There wasn’t much else in the room other than two doors, both closed. You couldn’t escape; there was no way you could get out of the chair, and then you had to get out of the room and then navigate Jeremiah’s labyrinth, if that’s where you were. Impossible. So, you had to wait.

Luckily it wasn’t long before one of the doors opened, a voice coming through followed by the man himself.  
“It must be perfect.” He was speaking to someone behind him, looking over his shoulder. He hadn’t noticed you were awake yet. You watched him carefully – looking away would be letting your guard down. As soon as he looked at the room, he saw you, and a smile broke onto your face at the sight of you glaring at him. It was as though he didn’t register the hate emanating from you. “You’re awake!” You followed him with your eyes as he strode towards you and took your face into his hands. You tried to pull away, but his grip was unimaginably strong. “Now, now. Don’t panic, dear. You’re safe.” You tried to shout through the tape covering your mouth, but nothing got past it. Jeremiah looked down at you in concern. “I said don’t panic. If you promise not to scream, I’ll take the tape off. Okay?” You nodded desperately. “It’s not like anyone will hear you anyway.” He was right. He wouldn’t be so stupid to keep you anywhere near other people. With a quick pull, he ripped the tape off of your mouth and you yelped in pain. A single tear fell down your cheek but you held yourself together. You had to be brave. You had to be strong. You did what he said, you didn’t scream, or shout, or yell. You stayed silently – stubbornly so. “Good girl.” The sickly-sweet tone of his voice almost made you shudder. “Now, dinner is almost ready.” He chuckled to himself at a joke you didn’t know. He pulled out the other chair and sat, his gaze fixed upon you, pale green eyes probing you. You couldn’t keep looking at him, so instead you stared at the table, at the dishes and cutlery and glasses placed there. All expensive, all delicate. Perfect, really. It somehow made the whole situation more terrifying. He was still watching you. You could feel it under your skin. Out of nowhere, he clapped, making you jump. “How could I forget?” He stood and crossed to a small cabinet and pulled out a bottle of red wine. Expensive as well. He poured himself a glass, then looked at you. “You’ll take a glass, won’t you?” You ignored him. He was insane, pantomiming a perfect romantic dinner with you kidnapped and tied to a chair. How could you respond? “(Y/N)…” He growled, the cheerful front starting to slip away to reveal his irritation. “Answer me.” You gritted your teeth and nodded. Cooperation was the safest option until you could figure out how to escape. “Use your words, (Y/N).” He demanded.  
“Yes.” You spat.  
““Yes,” what?”  
“Yes, please.” You hated him. You hated him so much. You wanted to kill him. You’d never wanted to kill anyone before. But you could make an exception for him. He smiled, immediately relaxing and turning into the doting dinner companion, pouring you a glass. You looked between it and him as he sipped from his own, a smug smile on his face. He knew exactly what he was doing.  
“How silly of me,” He chuckles. “You need your arms to drink, and to eat. Now,” He picked up a piece of cutlery, a sharpened steak knife that could easily kill you if he had the inclination. A clear threat. “You must agree not to run. Okay?”  
“Okay.”  
“Say it.”  
“I won’t run.” It felt as though he was pulling the words from your mouth, as though you were his obedient doll that would talk and move as he wanted. He smiled and used the knife to slice through the tape carefully and peel it from your skin. The feeling of his cold fingers against your sensitive skin made you shiver.  
“Very good.” The praise was almost worse than the threats. It made you feel powerless, obedient to his whims, and that was nothing you wanted to be. You rubbed your arms, trying to ease the ache in them, before taking a sip of your wine. There was no point in resisting. Not now. You had to play along if you had any hope of surviving. “I’m so glad you joined me, (Y/N).”  
“I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?” You muttered, avoiding looking at him.  
“Don’t be rude,” He hissed, “We both know you were simply… afraid of what people would think. But you don’t have to worry about that now. You don’t have to worry about anything ever again.” Your head snapped towards him, panic flooding your veins.  
“What do you mean?”  
“Well, now that you’re here, I’m going to look after you.” If you didn’t know any better, the words would be sweet and caring. But coming from him, while you were held captive, they were threats, promises of danger, of imprisonment.  
“No, you can’t.” All thought of cooperation flew from your mind. Dinner as a hostage was one thing, but a life… You couldn’t. Not even for a day. “You can’t do that Jeremiah!” You were shouting, but you didn’t care. He did.  
“Didn’t I say not to shout?” He rubbed his temples, clearly frustrated. “You’re making this very difficult, (Y/N).”  
“Oh, I’m so sorry that I’m making _kidnapping me_ and _holding me prisoner_ difficult!” The scream has barely left your lips and Jeremiah is stood with his hand around your throat, squeezing gently, stopping the blood flow to your brain. Immediately you whimper, from fear and pain, and your head starts to go fuzzy.  
“Never shout at me like that again. This is all for your own good.” You try to speak, to fight, but nothing can get through. That’s what he wants. He wants you silent, at his mercy. As black spots begin to scatter across your vision he lets go. You heave for breath, collapsing onto the table. Jeremiah strokes your hair comfortingly and you don’t have the strength to push him away. Or maybe you don’t have the bravery. Maybe you’re not as strong as you want to be. “It will all be okay, (Y/N). You’ll be safe here.”

You would never be safe here.


	2. Ours and Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner is finished, and so are you.

Dinner was served: rare steak with roast vegetables and a creamy sauce. The smell made your mouth water. You hadn’t had a meal like this in a long time. You approached the plate with caution – it could be drugged, or poisoned – but Jeremiah’s watchful gaze forced you to eat; you didn’t want to know how we would force you to.

Throughout the dinner, you struggled against the urge to take the steak knife in your hand and drive it through Jeremiah’s eye. While it would be satisfying to do so, your chances of success were non-existent, and to try would only incite his rage. So instead, you sat and ate quietly. Jeremiah didn’t try to speak to you – something you were grateful for – but he never stopped watching you. It made your skin crawl. His silence was almost worse than his voice. Almost.

When you had both finished the silence persisted even stronger. It was broken when a yawn forced its way out of you and Jeremiah stood in response.   
“You must be tired. I’ll take you to our room.” _Our. Not mine. **Our.**_ You would never be free of him, no moment of privacy, no safe space where you could hide and pretend that this wasn’t real. But you can’t fight, can’t protest. If you did he’d hurt you.

The wine glass fell from your hand, shattering against the table, spraying liquid everywhere, soaking into your top and into Jeremiah’s suit. You winced as a shard of glass lodged in your upper arm, but made no noise, fearfully watching Jeremiah, waiting for the inevitable outburst.

It never came. He sighed heavily and stood, brushing droplets of wine from his shirt.  
“You seem to have hurt yourself, dear. Come, let us fix it.” Your mouth hung open, but no words came out. There was nothing you could say. He offered you his hand to help you up. You ignored it and stood up by yourself; the only act of resistance you have left to you. But no. You are not even allowed that freedom. Jeremiah’s hand finds your arm, gripping it firmly; gentle enough to be supposedly sweet, but tight enough that you know it’s a threat. He guides you from the room. You were right: you’re in the maze. Or a maze, at least. Jeremiah has memorised it, of course, and quickly leads you through the corridors. So many corridors, seemingly endless. You could never know your way through this. To try and escape from here… it would be almost impossible. And that was being generous.

Part of you wondered if Jeremiah was purposefully messing with your sense of direction, trying to make sure that there was no way you could navigate even between rooms on your own. He was succeeding. Finally, he stopped you outside a door, one that matched all the others you and seen. You could have walked past it five times and you wouldn’t even know it. He held the door open for you, leaving you with no choice but to enter. It was dark until Jeremiah turned the light on. No windows underground. Even with the light the room itself was dark, grey walls, black wooden flooring. It was spacious, kept impeccably tidy. There were two other doors, both shut, leading to who knows where. There’s a desk, a few books stacked on it, but there’s no other clutter. The drawers have locks. There are more books lining the walls on shelves, fiction and non-fiction, volumes on architecture and chemistry and law.

And then the bed. It was massive. You supposed that was a mercy. The silken sheets and pillows were deep purple. Jeremiah crossed to one of the doors which he opened, gesturing for you to follow him inside. It was a bathroom. He opened a cupboard, pulling out a first aid box. In the surreal subterranean world of the maze, it was jarringly ordinary. It didn’t help when he began to pull out wipes and bandages. Your hand instinctively jumped to cover your arm – you didn’t want him to touch you. Noticing, he tutted condescendingly, as though you were a child.   
“Let me look at it.” Not a request. He pulled your hand away from it, piercing eyes examining the wound while you stared at the wall. You didn’t want to look at him. He pulled the glass out without warning, without mercy, making you yelp, which he shushed. You remained silent, afraid, as alcohol stung the exposed flesh, as he wrapped the bandage tightly around it. “Good girl.” He murmured as he finished, as you cooperated with him like a coward. What else could you do?

Leaving the bathroom, he guided you to the other door and encouraged you to enter, which you did so begrudgingly.

A walk-in wardrobe, full to the brim with clothes. Shirts and trousers and jackets were hung neatly against the walls. There was even a full section dedicated to ties. Shoes as well, shining like glass in the bright light.  
“Look in the chest of drawers.” It was a command, not a request, so you did as you were told. No sense in aggravating him over clothes. “Bottom drawer.” You bent down, painfully aware of his eyes on your form, and opened it. You reached in, pulling out a soft t-shirt, grey and plain.   
“What is this?” You didn’t want it to be what you thought it was. But it couldn’t be anything else. And Jeremiah confirmed it.  
“Clothes for you. Nothing but the best. I wasn’t sure what you would like, but it’s all the right size.” Another hand reached in, this time pulling out black leggings, simple as well. You turned and locked eyes with him, standing watching you, showing no signs of leaving.  
“Can I…” Your voice shook, terrified of how he would respond, “Can I have some privacy?”   
His jaw twitched, clearly irritated by your request, and he closed his eyes, inhaling through his nose tensely. “Of course, darling. I will just be outside.” The door swung shut and you were alone. You sank to your knees, clutching the clothes to your chest and holding in the sob that threatened to force its way out of your mouth. You had to be strong. You had to keep fighting. The moment you gave into the fear was the moment he won. Just don’t be stupid. Don’t provoke him. Someone will notice you’re missing. Someone will find you. Just wait. Wait.

You stood, resolved to survive, to win. You changed quickly, leaving your old clothes on the floor and leaving the wardrobe as quietly as possible. The room was empty. Light streamed from the other door. You looked at the bed, noticing that one of the bedside tables was empty bar the light, while the other held an alarm clock as well. Jeremiah’s side. You hurried to the other, curling up under the sheets at the edge of the mattress and feigning sleep. It might get you into more trouble, but you had to try. You couldn’t imagine facing him in bed. The door opened and shut, the light clicking off. Jeremiah’s feet were soft against the floor. He didn’t speak as he walked across the room, turning off the main light. Now there was only the light from the lamp next to you. He’s getting closer. Your side of the bed. You kept your eyes squeezed shut. He’s right in front of you. A cold hand wrapped around your arm, making you shiver involuntarily. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and you flinched.  
“Goodnight, my sweet.” The light flipped off and he left the room.

As soon as the door was shut and you were sure he was gone you sat up, turning the light back on. Where was he? Didn’t he sleep? Not that you were complaining. But you were still afraid to sleep. You couldn’t lock the door, couldn’t lock him out. The bed was comfortable, cosy; it would be easy to fall into a deep sleep here. You wouldn’t hear him come in. And then you would be vulnerable. Even more than you already were.

You had been left completely alone. You had neither seen nor heard a guard outside. Jeremiah clearly thought you wouldn’t resist him. That you were weak, afraid, resigned to your imprisonment. He was right: you were afraid. But you would not give in so quickly. He had made the mistake of kidnapping you, he had made the mistake of bringing you here, he had made the mistake of leaving you alone. You climbed out of the bed and snuck into the wardrobe. You found a pair of trainers, soft-soled and hopefully quiet, and slipped them onto your feet.

The door to the bedroom wasn’t even locked. _Arrogant bastard._ You left easily, wincing against the bright lights of the hallway. Lifting your bandage slightly, you ran your finger through the wound and marked the doorframe. If you wanted any hope of finding your way through the labyrinth, you would have to mark your way. You did the same at the first crossroads you came to, marking the wall of the corridor you came from with a “1”. You followed around to the left, then the right, left again, marking each corridor as you went, trying to find something recognisable, an exit, or an office, anything. A door slammed in the distance, making you jump. You didn’t have much time. Soon you would get caught, or someone would realise you were missing, or you’d set off an alarm. The next door you came to you tried the handle. It opened with ease, letting you into a dark office. A desk was pushed against one wall, filing cabinets lining the other, a whiteboard across from you, blank. It seemed disused, almost abandoned. You wouldn’t find anything here. But you had to try. The filing cabinets were full, plans and documents and letters and scraps of paper, organised chaos of Jeremiah’s history. There was too much to get through; it was overwhelming. So you went to the desk first. The top two drawers were empty, and the bottom locked. Glancing at the door, you bit your lip and took your chances, slamming a foot into it. It buckled on impact and slid open. A stapler, some pens, and… a map. A map of the maze. You were too lucky. Pulling it out you tried to figure out where you were. An office, the only room on this section of corridor. _There?_ You couldn’t be sure. You might just get more lost. But you didn’t have any other options. You folded the paper and slipped it into your waistband, leaving the room and turning left. You were quite far from the exit, but with the map, it should be easy to find your way there. Should be. If you were lucky, as you had been, and as long as no one found you.

Ten minutes traversing the maze. You could hear people about sometimes, trying your best to steer away from voices. You hadn’t seen any cameras and hoped that they weren’t there, rather than being hidden. Sometimes you felt like you could hear footsteps behind you, but would turn to find no one. You had never been so isolated, so abandoned as you were now. But soon you would be free. You had to be. You had to get away. Pulling the map out once more you checked your position. A few more turns. That was all that was left between you and freedom. Then you could run to Gotham, to the GCPD, to help and protection. Putting the map away an eager, hopeful smile appeared. You tried to suppress it – you didn’t want to get ahead of yourself – but it was almost impossible when freedom was so close.

Almost.

A cough. You froze. Maybe you imagined it. _Please, no, fucking please, don’t let it be him, let me escape, let me win, please, please, please…_

“(Y/N), why are you out of bed? You’re so tired.” You turned to find Jeremiah watching you, confusion masking his thinly veiled anger.   
“I…” You scrambled for words, praying that you could lie, that he wouldn’t notice the map that was almost certainly poking through your shirt. “I couldn’t sleep. I thought a walk would help. You didn’t say I couldn’t…” The look on his face silenced you. He was furious. He saw right through your feeble deception, your bullshit and lies. With a few short strides, his hands were wrapped tight around your arms, pulling you into him, burning like ice against your skin.   
“Let’s get you back to bed, hmm? Wouldn’t want you getting lost?”  
 _Why is he offering me a way out? Why is he letting me lie to him? Why doesn’t he make sense?_ Thoughts spun around your mind but all you could do was nod and let him pull you down the corridor, away from the exit, away from the brief hope you had indulged in. Away from life and towards him.


	3. Hopeless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been... you don't know how long. But you can't stand it any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only took me five months to update... enjoy!

Time doesn’t exist underground. There is no light, no day, no night. The ticking of the clocks is always too slow, too fast, or too quiet to even hear. A month could pass in a moment, an hour in a week. It doesn’t make sense. But then, it does. You don’t need to know what time it is, what day, what week, what month. What year. It doesn’t affect your life.

_No._

Not your life. Your life isn’t your life. It’s Jeremiah’s life. You do not belong to yourself. You are Jeremiah’s.

The harsh trill of the alarm clock jolts you out of uneasy dreams. You burrow into the pillow, desperate for a few moments of sleep, of not needing to think. You feel Jeremiah sit up and brush the air from your face. A small, dozy smile appears at the affection. Inside, you’re sick.

“You need to get up, darling.”  
You groan in resistance. But Jeremiah won’t take no for an answer.   
“(Y/N),” It’s almost a growl, but there’s enough sweetness that the threat is hidden. Mostly.  
“I know.” You push yourself into a sitting position and run your hands through greasy hair.   
“You need to shower.” Jeremiah stands and, walking around to your side of the bed, offers you his hand. You take it immediately and let him pull you up.   
“Yes, Jeremiah.” You make sure to say the words with a smile. You can’t let your guard fall. He leads you into the bathroom and turns the shower on. He won’t let you shower alone. Apparently it’s a loving gesture, but you know that he still doesn’t fully trust you. That he thinks you’ll try to escape by killing yourself. Not that the thought hadn’t crossed your mind.

You strip out of your clothes, facing away from him, the closest to privacy you can get, but when you turn back around he stands there, unchanged.

“Aren’t you…?” The unfinished question hangs in the air.  
“Sadly no. I have important work to get to, and I’m sure you’ll be fine on your own. You will, won’t you?”

 _Is this another test? Is there a correct answer?_ You blink.

“Of course I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me.”  
He steps closer, pressing an icy kiss to your cheek. “I always worry about you.” _I’m sure you do._ At this point, you’ve learned how to hide your revulsion, how to cover it with a smile and a head tilt, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t burn you from the inside.

He leaves and you step under the hot water. You let it burn his touch from you. It’s not enough. It’s never been enough. You can only shower so much.

But this is it. This is the day. Because in the weeks or months you’ve been here, trapped, manipulated, subservient, you’ve convinced Jeremiah that you’re not a threat. That he has you in his grip and you won’t try to escape anymore. Exactly what you want him to think.

It’s not true. None of it. Well, maybe you’ve been trapped. But it’s all going to end. You’re alone; you have nothing but your wits, your mind, yourself; and you’re going to fight tooth and nail to escape or die trying.

Once you’re finished and have a towel wrapped around your body, you go to the first aid cabinet. It’s unlocked. You scan the shelves and your eyes fix onto the bottle that you were looking for. Sleeping pills. Extra strong. Jeremiah gave you these when you had nightmares, which wasn’t uncommon. So you know how fast they would work. And if you could somehow get Jeremiah to swallow just one, you would have the best chance you could hope for. Then all you needed to worry about was the guards, and the security, and the massive fucking maze you were living in.

Nothing too much.

You tipped a couple into your hand and held them close until you were sure Jeremiah wasn’t waiting outside. When you’re dressed you slip them into the pocket of your cardigan and crumple a tissue to hide them from anyone who might be able to see inside. They’re all you’ve got. Your only hope.

You pace the bedroom for maybe an hour or so before there’s a knock on the door. You answer it immediately, nerves filling you with energy. It’s one of the guards. Dressed all in black, gun on his hip. Pure intimidation.  
“Miss (Y/L/N). Mr Valeska would like to have lunch with you. Please come with me.” He’s almost robotic.  
“Of course. Let me just put some shoes on.” You put on your sneakers and take a breath before following him out of the room. He leads you through the corridors to the far-too-familiar dining room, where two bowls of soup sit. _Fucking soup_. You can’t believe your luck. Even better, Jeremiah isn’t here yet. “Thank you.” Dismissing the guard, you sit in your spot and try to keep the look of glee hidden. After you make sure you’re alone, you pull out the pills and crush them with the base of your water glass until they’ve become a fine powder, which you scrape into his bowl and stir into the soup. Then, you wait.

It’s not long before Jeremiah appears with a stiff smile. “(Y/N).” You greet him with what you hope is a perfect warm smile. You should have practised it enough by now.   
“How are you?”  
“It’s been a busy morning.” Despite the tiredness in his voice, he sits down gracefully and precisely. “But I feel better for seeing you.” You look away, pretending to be embarrassed by the comment. He begins to eat, slowly and steadily, and you watch him carefully, forgetting your own meal in the process. “Aren’t you going to eat?” You start, and nod, quickly picking up your spoon. _Don’t let the charade fall too quickly_. Silence, as usual, nothing but the sound of cutlery and dishes. Your heartbeat rings in your ears. _Please let it work. Please._

As you pray silently to a god you don’t believe in anymore, Jeremiah’s spoon falls with a clatter.  
“(Y/N)…” He hisses. Every muscle in your body tenses. “What have you done?”  
“I don’t know what you -” His hand lashes out and takes hold of your throat in a steel grip that forces all of the air out of you.   
“Don’t. Lie. To me.” He pulls you closer, so close you can feel his breath on your face. You push at him with one hand, while the other reaches to the table, searching for the knife.   
“Fuck you.” You swing the blade towards him, but he jumps back before you can drive it into his face, only managing to catch his cheek. His blood is dark, oozing. You don’t know why the pills didn’t work, or how he knew they were there, but it doesn’t matter now.

Now, you need to fight.

You leap at him, aiming for his chest, but he’s strong; far stronger than you could have imagined. He grabs you and holds you in place easily as you struggle. Then you’re flying through the air and landing on the table with a thud before it breaks under you, making you crash to the ground. The back of your head cracks against something and immediately black spots appear in your vision. You can just barely see Jeremiah standing over you as the room swims.

“What a shame,” He sighs, wiping the blood from his cheek with a pristine white handkerchief. “There’s always Plan B.”

And the room goes dark.

*

Restraints.

Tight against your limbs.

You can’t move.

Can’t speak for something in your mouth.

Can’t think for the pain in your head.

Bright lights. And shadows. You can’t tell what’s casting them. The aching grows stronger, spreading down through your body. There’s nothing but pain.

“Don’t pretend you’re not awake.” The sound hurts. You long for the comforting silence. “(Y/N).” You whimper as you start to feel more clearly. Scratches in your back, bruises everywhere. Dried blood coating the back of you’re hair. You can’t see him, but you know it was Jeremiah who spoke.

You know you don’t have long to live. But maybe that’s alright.

“I’m disappointed in you, (Y/N).” He’s circling you. Like a shark. Or a cat with a half-dead mouse. “I had hoped you would learn to love me, that you would learn your place, but now I see I expected far too much of you.”  
You try to speak, try to plead with him, but the gag in your mouth is tight and unyielding.   
“Shhhhh.” It might have been a comforting sound in another reality. “I’m going to fix you.” You feel his hands brush back your hair, brushing tears from your eyes. “You will love me, (Y/N). I won’t take no for an answer. It will just take a little convincing.”

You scream silently as a blade cuts into your skin, and all hope is lost.


End file.
